


Absence

by Smuttine



Series: In an other world Vhenan [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 17:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4844312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smuttine/pseuds/Smuttine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After defeating Corypheus, Ilyana goes to close breaches all over Thedas not without trying to get some clue to find Solas. She needs to be far from the others for some time but tonight she won't be so alone...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absence

**Author's Note:**

> Please remember those are my headcanons and the fic has been written before the Trespasser dlc ^^  
> Plus I'm french so I apologie if the text is not good enough in english. I just needed to share my work.  
> I hope this first one will please you. It's kinda soft because it was to offer to a friend. The next ones will be hotter ;)  
> The awesome art here is a commission from the great Swevenfox, run and check his work here: http://swevenfox.tumblr.com/

The day comes to an end. After many weeks spent tracking with her Skyhold pack (associates), the inquisitor has decided to go on her own. She knows her work is far from being done, but she can’t stand having to smile to her friends to hide her sadness, to fake fighting Evil for others and not for filling her own emptiness, pretending her life would be about to start again for everyone when she is feeling herself dying little by little.. She quite knows they are no suckers anyway, so what’s the point keeping on faking? Besides, they were the first ones to notice there was something strong between her and him, the first ones to support her or, on the contrary, to incite her to distance herself. Should she have listened to them more than to herself? You can’t put the clock back, and nothing, not even having fought a semi-god, not even having saved a whole empire from havoc can save her from the void of this absence. Would she ever know one day why he vanished? If she, as she thinks, is responsible for his sudden leave?

But as he used to say, she ought to close her heart and turn her pain against the chaos begot by Corypheus. The latter may well no longer be among the living, the sky of Thedas is still torn by multiple breaches out of which demons emerge to spread destruction and panic. Yet it is no longer a surge of solidarity which motivates the inquisitor. She indeed never lied to herself: she knew that if she had a chance to find Solas, it was by traveling across the world in order to close those goddamn breaches. Then, who knows, during her wanderings, she may have the luck to find evidence of his passing? Any clues of his hasty departure?  
Yet hope is no part of this night. How many rifts would she have sealed without the faintest sign from him? To how many people would she have given a new hope since the death of the divine Justinia, when she feels herself sinking deeper and deeper into nothingness? However she was never devoid of strength when it came to fight for others, to make a better world or even to bring back the past Elven Glory, beside him, nonetheless… But what is now left from our heroin?

Quite weary, Ilyana sets up a makeshift camp. As the moon rises in the sky, she offers a last stroke to her halla, her sole travel companion, then withdraws in her tent. As every night, She spends long minutes to takeoff all the elements of her armor. Each times she feels like it is taking ages during which she keeps bringing up his last words, his last looks… His slender fingers softly put down on her face… She could not tell what hurts the most. One stark naked, she finally slips under an elven blanket, precious keepsake of her clan now extinct. She then closes her eyes, hopefully thinking to get to sleep rapidly. But the night will have thought otherwise. The air is muggy during those first summer days. The woods are cracking under the muffled moves of its nocturnal wildlife. Ilyana can not stop from flipping over in her bed. The heat goes to her head and the first drops of sweat are dripping from her forehead. It’s a fact. She will not be able to sleep before hours. Resigned, she goes out of her tent in search for freshness. The moonlight adorns her dark body, revealing the fragile shapes of a dalish. The narrow waist, her small pointy breasts, her nonexistent hips… Ilyana was the very archetype of the women of her clan, where only the ears could tell the difference between them and a hardly pubescent young shem . Only her eyes betrayed her age, her pain…

However, the inquisitor loved the night. Departing from the walls of Skyhold for the Emerald Graves brought its share of salvation. Lone and naked in front of the campfire with her mage staff as sole trick, Ilyana shuts her eyes and opens her mind. So much time spent within the barriers blunted her senses and this return to basics was eventually welcomed. Here the crickets are singing, there a mouse is getting out of her hole, taking advantage of the darkness to search for food. Little by little, Ilyana took possession of her surroundings by spying every wood crack, every breeze. Then comes the moment when she feels, as every mage, the need to become conscious of the other side of the veil. Slowly, she rises her eyelids. Slowly, she waves her hand above the flames just like he taught her. Slowly, their colors turns from a yellow orange to a crystal blue and so begets the veiled fire. And precisely at that moment, she hears it. Tearing out the outward silence of the night, rises, from afar, the moan of a wolf. Our mage does not listen to that type of chant for the first time. Yet, that night, this moan seems to go along with her. She then close her eyes to hear better and while she immerses herself in this sweet melancholy, a kind of mist seems to swirl around her body. Nevertheless she is afraid of re-opening them , may the nascent communion with this wooden spirit be broken. The mist turns out tangible, wraparound, and she remembers his words: “the veil is thin here, can you feel it on your skin, tingling?” Ilyana falls on her knees, facing the veiled fire, and thin tears roll on her cheeks while she is keeping her eyes shut. And yet a warm heat is invading her. The mist reflecting the bluish fire seems to draw a ghost cuddled up against her back, right next to her who ceases to fight to give away to reverie. She is quite certain, or at least, she wishes it from the depth of her being : these are his arms surrounding her, these are his sharp fingers brushing her cheek, these are his amulet she can feel against her skin. She can hardly touch with her fingers this talisman she always felt uncomfortable with. She grasps it between her fingers to put it aside of their bodies. And as nothing left separates the two shadows, Ilyana surrenders so totally to her dream that she doesn’t feel the change of her own body.  
Her face starts to glow with an iridescent glare under the moonlight. As crawling on the features of her face, thin drawings glimmer like a heart beating to the rhythm of the inquisitor’s breath. An elf would have no difficulty to understand the nature of those briefly appearing sketches on her face : those are vallaslins. Those are her vallaslins. The very same that Solas did indeed wipe out shortly before disappearing. But Ilyana has already lost her senses in this spectral embrace and cannot pay attention in no way to this mystery, convinced as she is being in the arms of the elf she loves. That’s his right arm holding her against him, gripping her waist as if he feared to lose her. That’s his left hand which, much more secure and soft, is tracing a way from the back of her ear to the point of her chin, thus inclining her face backwards with his fingertips in order to make way to her throat for his kisses…. In a last attempt of lucidity, the young mage tries to take hold of her staff lying next to her, but the mere contact of her weapon in her greedy hand takes the better of this foolish try. Isn’t it his heavy limb she feels pressing against her thigh? Isn’t she feeling his lips pressing on her throat, dropping passionate kisses, tasting her flesh? Isn’t it his hand heading slowly towards her sex, subtly patting her lips so as to, finally, slowly crawl into her being? As Ilyana sinks in her dream, the vallaslins sparkle, enhancing her moonlit body like a blaze emerging from the forest in the heart of night….

 

Epilogue

Far away from there, a wolf turns around, scampering along towards a prostrated figure. In a satisfied groan, he puts his head on his friend and master’s knees, who pats his collar as a response to its affection. But the deep and jerky breath of the hooded being betrays his distance. His hand sinks in the animal’s fur and grasps its soft fleece. A moan escapes from his opened mouth, scarcely visible in the darkness. A tear rolls along his cheek… then his own words come back in his wounded heart: “…. What we had…. was real…..”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy this lovely gift a friend made to me after reading this fic ^^  
> http://tatakikick.tumblr.com/post/121513219506/thanks-a-lot-to-needapotion-who-made-this-awsome  
> The awesome art here is a commission from the great Swevenfox, run and check his work here: http://swevenfox.tumblr.com/


End file.
